The Bubba Guy

When I met The Big Guy he was 6’2+ and about 175 lbs. Pretty lean. By the time we got married, he was 185 lbs. Still very trim. I won’t tell you how much I weighed when we got married, but suffice it to say, I exploded after the birth of two kids. I never had to diet before, so being in my mid 20s and learning how to control my diet was a big deal. His weight never changed, which was frustrating as I tackled losing baby weight times two.

The Big Guy was very supportive. NOT. It wasn’t that he didn’t want me to lose weight, he just didn’t understand the concept. Because I didn’t feel I should deprive the household, I would still bake and have treats in the house. I just wouldn’t have any. And then I’d have to fend off The Big Guy, who would constantly offer to cut me a piece of cake, pie or square and then feign surprise when I stated that I “couldn’t” eat it.

Such support….

He still doesn’t understand why I don’t partake in dessert following each meal and why there are still two unopened boxes of chocolates on the counter from Christmas.

Uh, mainly because I DON’T want to staring down 200 lbs again!!??

So I was less than sympathetic when he came home with news the other day. He’d just come home from a physical with our new doctor, for which he was LONG overdue.

“Did you know they weigh you every time you go in for an appointment?” he asked.

“Yup,” I replied, thinking that I was pretty sure I’d mentioned this to him already.

“Well the nurse told me I was 192.7 lbs!” he exclaimed. “CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?”

<PAUSE>In fairness, I had noticed The Big Guy was a little Big-ger, but it certainly wasn’t a bad thing. We had argued at Christmas that he was not a Large but an Extra Large, and I was listening when he was telling me that his pants were fitting tighter. His new job has him tied to a desk or his truck most of the time. Then there is the whole age vs. metabolism debate. Did I think it was a problem? Nope. Would I have told him if I thought it was? Jury is still out on that….<PLAY>

So the weight conversation lasted a while, with The Big Guy fearing this was the top of the slippery slope that sees him ending up as the Human Pear; a tall man with a gut out front and long thin legs. As I choose my words carefully, I offer a couple of suggestions.

“We’ll walk together at least once a week!” I offer.

“Can you believe that? 192.7 LBS!” he replies.

“Maybe you’ll have to start watching what you eat.” I suggest.

“I’ve never been 192.7 lbs in my entire life!” he exclaims.

“You know, we’re talking about seven pounds,” I point out.

“I KNOW! SEVEN POUNDS!” he nearly faints.

I remove myself from the conversation for two reasons. One, because he obviously needs to come to terms with this unmitigated shock he’s just experienced.

And two, because he can’t possible get his head around the fact that what he’s gained is less weight than either of his sons that I gave birth to.